


Not Flesh And Blood

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [4]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, F/M, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Spanking, young!Hotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Hotch's early days at the BAU. A phone call causes Hotch to disappear for almost two days without word and Rossi is understandably upset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Flesh And Blood

**Author's Note:**

> It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.
> 
> Friedrich Schiller, German author

* * *

 

David Rossi wasn’t a man prone to anything even resembling hysterics. Being an FBI agent had made sure his tolerance for stress was higher than most people’s, and he was usually a believer in the philosophy of not worrying about things he couldn’t do anything about.

This, however, was before Aaron Hotchner went missing for almost two days.

The BAU had had a rare lack of cases for a few days and everyone had been trying to catch up on the paperwork that inevitably piled up during cases. Communication had been limited to a few words spoken at the coffee pot, so no-one had even particularly noticed when Hotch suddenly left his desk after a phone call and didn’t return. At least not until Rossi decided to take him out to lunch and realized that his protégé was nowhere in the entire FBI building and that no-one in there knew where he was.

After swearing a few times, shouting a little at his colleagues and trying to call Hotch, Rossi resigned himself to that Hotch had simply decided to unexpectedly take the day off and gone home. And since he respected the kid’s privacy he hadn’t called Hotch’s wife.

At least not for five hours. Then, when he still had no word from Hotch, he called Haley and discreetly inquired if she had seen her husband. She hadn’t, it turned out and Rossi swore some more. Disappearing without a word was entirely unlike Hotch and Rossi was unable to decide whether he should be worried or angry.

When Rossi arrived at work the next day and Hotch still wasn’t there, it was definitely beginning to lean toward worried. He called Hotch again, and when he got no answer he called Haley, who did answer but hadn’t seen Hotch. She was, however, out of town and had been for the last two days. So Rossi decided to drive home to Hotch, to check if maybe the younger man had been feeling sick or something and gone home. That didn’t seem to be the case, since no-one answered Rossi’s insistent knock, and after he used his badge to get the neighbor to loan him a key, Rossi could check the apartment himself. No signs of Hotch.

And somewhere about then Rossi was beginning to get really worried. Because Hotch never took off without letting someone know where he was going to be. Hell, Hotch was never even late for work.

So Rossi made some phone calls, the first one to Alex Leroy who immediately agreed to make some calls of his own and for two hours or so the worst of his fears were soothed, because between the two of them, Rossi and Leroy could get a lot of eyes to look for Hotch and if the kid was somewhere in the area he would be found. Then the pictures of just what Hotch would look like when he was found made themselves known, and Rossi got even more worried. 

Abandoning all pretenses of doing any work besides looking for Hotch and leaving the BAU in the hands of his colleagues, Rossi drove over to Leroy and poured himself a large glass of the man’s best whiskey as he shared his worries with his old friend.

“Aaron wouldn’t just take off,” he said, “Something must have happened.”

Leroy was listening attentively to his complaints, but was doing his best to allay Rossi’s fears. “All right, something happened,” he said, “I’ll grant you that. But not necessarily something like you’re imagining. Maybe he was just upset over something.”

“He’d have to be pretty damn upset to just take off and leave,” Rossi retorted which got him a shrug from Leroy. “You think I messed up somehow?”

Leroy frowned. “Like how?” he said. It was Rossi who shrugged this time.

“I don’t know…” he said. He really didn’t, but he still couldn’t shake the fear that if Hotch was upset it was because of something he had done. Because Hotch was vulnerable, despite his attempts to be as emotionally shut off as possible, and Rossi wasn’t the world’s most sensitive guy, something his ex-wives could attest to.

“Dave,” Leroy said, sounding gently reprimanding, “You couldn’t possibly upset him like that without even knowing it.”

Rossi just sighed deeply in reply, taking another gulp from his glass and shaking his head. For a while they sat in silence, Rossi desperately hoping that the phone would ring and that it would be Hotch saying that he had just gone on an unexpected vacation and that there was no need for Rossi to worry about anything but the best way to punish the man. 

Of course, that didn’t happen. Rossi and Leroy remained at the latter’s kitchen table, staring at their respective phones for hours, Rossi’s agitation constantly increasing.

“What do I do if we don’t find him?” he suddenly blurted out. Leroy frowned and tilted his head, giving him a sympathetic look.

“I don’t know,” he said, “But don’t worry about it. We will find him.”

As if on cue, Leroy’s phone rang and he snatched it up quickly.

“Leroy,” he answered it. “Yes?”

He was silent for a few seconds, listening intently and reaching for the pen they had placed on the table.

“Yes,” he said after a moment, “Go ahead.”

He wrote down an address quickly, ignoring the fact that Rossi was basically hanging over his shoulder. “Thank you,” he then ended the call, “I owe you.”

“Someone found him?” Rossi asked eagerly as soon as Leroy had disconnected. “Where was he?”

“A bar,” Leroy replied with a shrug. “I’ll go get him.”

Rossi frowned. “I should do it,” he said. Leroy shook his head and patted his shoulder.

“No, you should go to your cabin and calm down,” he instructed, “The kid doesn’t need you to shout at him.”

As much as Rossi wanted to argue and go and fetch Hotch himself, he had to admit that Leroy was right. Hotch didn’t need to be submitted to angry yelling, as it would only bring up memories that Rossi had no wish to be associated with, and if he saw Hotch right now he would yell, that much he knew. Leroy, though, probably wouldn’t. First of all because he hadn’t been as affected; he genuinely cared about Hotch, and was worried about the young man, but not like Rossi. Second of all, even when Leroy was angry he could usually keep calm if he had to, and that would be better for Hotch. Third of all, Rossi suspected that Leroy wanted some time to scold Hotch himself, and knowing first hand that Leroy could manage quite a scolding when he felt like it, Rossi approved of the idea.

“All right,” he agreed. They didn't speak anymore as they both left the house and drove off in different directions, Rossi trying to make sure that he wouldn’t lose his temper as soon as he saw Hotch. He had a feeling he wasn’t doing very well.

 

* * *

 

The oblivion people sought in alcohol, Hotch was beginning to suspect, was a lie. How else was he supposed to explain that he had been drunk enough last night to have no clear memories _except_ those of feeling even more miserable than he was now? It was true that he had managed to forget what it was that was making him miserable, but that didn’t matter much when the feeling was still there.

So it was a bit surprising, even to himself, that he was in a bar this evening as well. Not that he was drinking, really; he had been nursing the same beer for the past few hours. It was the atmosphere of the place that appealed to him. No-one was giving him strange looks because he was sitting moodily holed up in a corner, staring darkly at everything. Everyone in the room was used to people doing just that, and knew to leave him alone. He didn’t need to feel so out of place.

Which he did around the cheerful people in the rest of the city, because of the phone call he had gotten the day before. And he hated himself for it. He should be happy for his mother and his brother. The news that his mother has decided to get married again shouldn’t dredge up these feelings of bitterness, jealousy and resentment. But it did, and they fitted right in at this dubious establishment where mostly everyone seemed more intent on getting drunk as quickly as possible than actually enjoying their drinks.

He was too busy contemplating all of this to notice the entrance of Alexandre Leroy, until the man was only a few steps away from his table. If he had, he might have considered hiding, because Leroy looked very displeased and the look he sent Hotch’s way made him want to slide under the table and remain there.

“You, young man,” Leroy said sternly as he slid into the seat next to Hotch, “are in so much trouble.”

Hotch blushed as his eyes widened almost involuntarily. Now that he thought about it, he supposed he probably was. He had just managed to conveniently forget about it for the past twenty-four hours or so, being too caught up in being miserable to consider that he would be missed. And apparently he had been; enough for Rossi to call Leroy.

“Have you got any idea how worried everyone has been?” Leroy continued, his voice low enough to afford some privacy, which Hotch supposed he should be grateful for because if it had been Rossi that certainly wouldn’t have been the case. “If it was a few hours I would have been prepared to accept it, but over a day, Aaron? Jo was calling every hospital and every private practitioner in town and Dave has managed to convince himself it’s all his fault you’re missing.”

Hotch frowned. “Why would he think that?” he asked, ignoring the rest of Leroy’s lecture because there was quite frankly no good way to answer it. Leroy shrugged exaggeratedly and snorted.  

“Parents always blame themselves for their children’s misfortunes,” he said. Hotch’s head snapped up and he gave the older man an incredulous look. Had he said what Hotch thought he had?

“What?” he demanded. Leroy raised an eyebrow.

“I said: parents always blame themselves for their children’s misfortunes,” he repeated, enunciating each word clearly, his accent almost completely unnoticeable.

“I think you have the wrong word,” Hotch said, refusing to accept what the man was saying.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t,” Leroy retorted. Hotch looked away, awkwardly fiddling with his glass.

“You do,” he insisted.

“Actually, no, I don’t,” the older man repeated more firmly. “My English isn’t that bad. Parent is the very word I’m looking for.”

Hotch didn’t reply, because there was really no way of replying to such a statement. He could refute it, of course, and he probably should, because it was obvious that Leroy had misunderstood the word completely. But arguing with Leroy when he had made his mind up about something was futile at the best of times, and now was far from it.

“Are you ready to leave?” Leroy asked after a few second of silence, and although Hotch was pretty sure he intended the question as rhetorical, he shook his head.

“I’d rather stay,” he muttered, not looking at the older man. Leroy leant closer to Hotch.

“Aaron,” he said conversationally, which Hotch supposed he should have learnt by now was never a good sign, “Do you want to be dragged out of here by your ear?”

Hotch was about to get up at that, because he wasn’t about to challenge Leroy on something like it, only to realize that the man was effectively blocking his path. Apparently, he wanted an answer. With a slight blush on his face and eyes downcast he shook his head.

“No, sir,” he said and as he threw a look at Leroy the man smirked and ordered him to get out of the booth with a jerk of the head. He obeyed, shuffling past Leroy, because apparently the older man had decided that Hotch had to get out first. The reason became apparent as he was given a light cuff to the back of his neck, making him flinch slightly in surprise. He reached back a hand to rub at it, turning his head to glare at Leroy.

The man merely raised his eyebrow, daring Hotch to argue. He didn’t.

Leroy had parked just outside the bar and Hotch didn’t look up as he entered the car, looking out the window as Leroy got in on the other side and started the car and pulled out, driving a bit too quickly for Hotch’s liking.

“I’m taking you to Dave’s cabin,” he announced, his voice a bit softer than it had been before; perhaps he had spent some of his anger by forcing his car into the sharp curves he did.

“Okay,” Hotch agreed quietly and for a moment there were no other sounds than the engine of the car. Then Leroy seemed to make a decision and shot a quick glare at Hotch before embarking on what Hotch suspected would be a long lecture.

“Like I said, a few hours I would have understood,” the man said, “If you’d been gone one night, I would have been upset, but I would have been able to accept it if you had checked in, in the morning. But you’ve been gone almost two entire days, Aaron! Without a single word! Do you have the slightest idea how worried we were? Dave and I have both worked enough abduction cases to have enough imagery to make worrying about you extremely unpleasant! You stupid, stupid, thoughtless boy!”

Fortunately for Hotch, who was blushing fiercely by now, Leroy broke into French at that point and even though Hotch spoke no French beyond a few phrases of greeting, he quite clearly caught the meaning of the rapid, angry words that were easily rolling off the older man’s tongue. He immediately understood why Leroy would want to switch to French, because even though the man’s English was excellent this sounded considerably more natural to him.

The rant continued for some time, and Hotch found himself unable to do much anything but sit and listen to the angry words, because it wasn’t as if he could defend himself. At last, Leroy broke off, quite abruptly to Hotch’s ears, and took a deep breath.

“I at least hope you had a good reason,” he said, now considerably calmer. Hotch didn’t answer; partly because he didn’t want to tell Leroy of his reason and partly because he had a pretty strong feeling it wouldn’t be considered a good reason. “If you want to talk…”

This gentleness was worse than being scolded, really. It would have been easier to not feel bad about disappearing for a day if Leroy had just yelled, just been angry and upset. This soft proof that he was actually concerned for Hotch, and not just about his own peace of mind, made Hotch feel like an idiot. He nodded, but didn’t say anything and Leroy seemed to interpret this as that he didn’t want to talk. Instead he patted Hotch’s shoulder softly and turned on the stereo, and for the rest of the ride to Rossi’s cabin the car was filled with soft jazz music.

Hotch refused to think about anything but the way the melodies changed, the notes of the piano and the hoarse voice of whatever woman was singing, because if he did he felt certain he would lose the fragile hold he had on his emotions. It had been easier before Leroy showed up and reminded him of things that reminded him of the things he didn’t want to think about. But the man had to bring up that awful word that Hotch right now hated with a passion.

And his distraction techniques seemed to work, because by the time Leroy pulled up outside Rossi’s cabin, located in an as remote area as possible that close to town, he hadn’t yet done anything stupid, like crying, or yelling, or confessing his feelings to Leroy. For a moment after the car had stopped they sat in silence, Hotch waiting for some sort of signal that it was okay to leave and Leroy seemingly thinking about something intently.

“Aaron…” he said at last, “This time Dave will handle it, but if you ever disappear like that again…”

“Understood, sir,” Hotch replied immediately and truthfully; because the thinly veiled threat was quite clear. He was rewarded with a weary smile from Leroy.

“Okay,” he said and gave Hotch’s shoulder a friendly pat. “You shouldn’t make Dave wait any longer.”

Recognizing the words for the dismissal they were Hotch returned Leroy’s smile with a strained one of his own before getting out of the car. The man was right; if Rossi really had been missing him since yesterday, then the sooner Hotch got in there, the better.

As it turned out, he didn’t actually need to enter the house. He had barely raised his arm to knock on the door as it was thrown open and Hotch was somewhat roughly pulled into an embrace, his face being pushed against the fabric of Rossi’s shirt before he even had time to say anything. The hug lasted only for a moment; then Rossi abruptly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in through the doorway.

“I hope you don’t have any plans that involve sitting down any time soon,” he snapped, his hand gripping Hotch’s arm almost painfully and his stride determined.

And for a moment, fear flared up in Hotch. It was not that he was really frightened of Rossi; he knew the older man didn't want to hurt him. But he also knew all too well that sometimes intentions didn’t really matter and that when people lost their temper…

Not bothering trying to be polite, he pulled away, out of Rossi’s grasp, and quickly took a step away from the man. He wasn’t sure if he had really expected Rossi to be angry at his defiance, but he was still a bit surprised when Rossi simply looked at him for a moment before understanding seemed to dawn on him and his features changed into a grimace, and he pulled a hand through his hair with a deep sigh.

“Oh, hell… I’m sorry,” he said, “Come on in and sit down.”

Now that Rossi seemed to have regained control over his temper, Hotch knew that he should no longer be worried about what Rossi would do. It was only that the adrenaline in him didn’t want to acknowledge that; his body was still tensed and waiting to defend itself. But he obeyed, taking a seat on the sofa Rossi gestured to and trying not to make the way he followed the older man’s every movement with his gaze too obvious. Rossi being a profiler, however, he supposed he should have known that that would be impossible.

“God, Hotch, I’m sorry…” Rossi muttered again, “I shouldn’t lose my temper. But have you got any idea how worried I was?”

Hotch frowned. He had known Rossi was worried, but not worried enough to lose his hold on his emotions; the older man was an FBI agent and was normally stress hardly affected him at all.

“I’m okay,” Hotch muttered in reply; to what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was assuring the man that Rossi’s sudden anger hadn’t hurt him, or maybe he was telling him that he shouldn’t worry. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. Because despite that he was no longer perched to escape at the first available opportunity, he was far from okay and he knew it.

Apparently, so did Rossi. The older man tilted his head slightly and gave Hotch a skeptical look. “No, you’re not,” he said. Hotch blushed slightly, as always annoyed at the man’s insight, but he had no intention of admitting to being anything but all right. Why, he didn’t even know himself. Maybe because he’d have to talk about it if he did.

“I’m okay, Dave,” he repeated, “I really am.”

“Oh, so that’s why you ran off?” Rossi countered, his voice thick with unveiled sarcasm, “Because you were feeling so damn okay you couldn’t bear it? You expect me to believe that?”

Hotch blushed and averted his eyes. When you put it like that… Although he did dislike the words “ran off”. He hadn’t run off. He didn’t say anything though, mostly because he was unsure how to argue with the older man. Because Rossi was right. Of course he wasn’t okay; if only because he was too confused.

“Okay, Aaron,” Rossi said after a while of silence, and he had passed sarcastic and entered dangerously stern, and for a moment Leroy’s wording didn’t seem so strange. “Here’s the deal; you’re not fine and we both know it. You can talk about it now and then get punished, or I can punish you now and then we’ll talk. Your choice.”

In Hotch’s opinion, that wasn’t much of a choice. He didn’t want to talk to Rossi about how he felt. He definitely didn’t want to be punished. The order the two came in didn’t particularly matter, since Hotch knew that there was little chance of getting away from either. But he could always try, he supposed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hotch said quietly. “I… it’s nothing you can fix, Dave.”

That, Hotch supposed, was maybe the main reason he had no wish to talk about it. What was the point of dredging up memories and feelings when there was nothing that could be done about them? Sometimes, he had to admit to himself, being pushed by Rossi to tell him about what was bothering him was a good thing, but that was when there was actually something the older man could do about it. Now it would do nothing but make him more miserable.

“Aaron…” Rossi said simply, his voice far too gentle for Hotch to ignore it. He looked up from the careful study he was submitting his hands to and carefully met Rossi’s eyes. “You took off and were missing without any contact for over twenty-four hours. I can’t ignore that.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Hotch replied evenly, “I’m fully prepared to accept whatever punishment you feel is appropriate.”

Rossi crossed his arms and shook his head slowly, looking at Hotch as if he had just said something incredibly stupid. Hotch gave him an inquiring look, silently asking what he’d said that was so obviously wrong. Hadn’t he just said that he was prepared to do what Rossi asked of him, prepared to submit to whatever childish punishment Rossi thought was necessary?

“Look, kid,” Rossi said, sounding exasperated, “the important thing isn’t that you get punished. It’s that this doesn’t happen again, and I can’t make sure of that if I have no idea what caused it.”

“You couldn’t even if I told you,” Hotch said, trying to sound convincing, trying to make Rossi see his point. He pushed away the feeling that he was closer to being whining than reasonable. “I told you; it’s nothing you can control.”

“Maybe not, but I can help you deal with it.”

Hotch wasn’t sure whether to embrace or scoff at the idea. In a way it was comforting to hear Rossi promise to make things better and he wanted to believe that the older man really could do that, really could take away the pain and the shame. But on the other hand, he found the idea ridiculous. Hotch wasn’t a child who had fallen and scrubbed his knee and whose father could make everything all right with soft words and a band aid. Hotch was a grown man whose issues went much farther than that, even though he did his best to deny it, and Rossi wasn’t some sort of god. Rossi couldn’t fix him.

“No, you can’t,” he replied. To his surprise, the answer to that was a scoff.

“Aaron, are you seriously telling me that the most constructive way of dealing with a problem is to run off and hide in a bar?” Rossi demanded and now he was back to sarcastically incredulous. “Because if you are, I think I have to send you back to Psychology 101.”

A blush made its way up Hotch’s face and he made a small grimace. At least Rossi had a way with words, he though wryly. Which of course was little comfort right now; the man had effectively pushed him into a corner, one that Hotch couldn’t really escape from with any sort of dignity. Of course doing what he had done hadn’t been the ultimate coping strategy; avoidance and denial weren’t exactly what was recommended. And Rossi knew that he knew that. Realizing that he was basically out of cards, Hotch did the first thing his instinct told him to and looked away from Rossi, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head slowly.

“Aaron?” Rossi repeated. “I’d like an answer.”

“Dave…” Hotch pleaded, ignoring the prompt. “Please.”

“No,” Rossi replied inexorably. “Talk.”

It was a clear order and Hotch was at a loss for how to get out of this without disobeying it directly, something that wouldn’t have very nice consequences. He didn’t move his hands from his face and chuckled mirthlessly, bitterness at the complete helplessness of his situation overwhelming him despite that it was Rossi who was the cause.

“I hate you,” he muttered through his hands.  

“That’s okay,” Rossi said. If Hotch had wanted to upset him with his words he had obviously failed miserably. “Just talk to me. Was it something I did?”

Maybe Leroy was more right than Hotch had given him credit for, at least about that part. The part about Rossi’s relationship to Hotch was still completely wrong.

“No,” he replied.

“You sure? I won’t be angry, you know.”

Hotch believed him. Rossi had a temper, but he was fairly good at controlling it and really only lost it when it was beneficial to him. Or when Hotch was doing something stupid. However, it was uncertain if Rossi would believe that Hotch trusted him not to be angry, and feeling rather angry at the man’s ability to manipulate any given situation to his advantage, Hotch realized that the only way he could get Rossi to abandon the idea that it was he who had somehow hurt Hotch was to tell him what the problem really was.

So he began talking.

“My mother called,” he said quietly. Rossi waited patiently for him to continue and despite still not looking at him Hotch could almost see his politely raised eyebrows and kind look. He didn’t continue; not because he really thought there was any chance of getting out of telling Rossi, but simply because he didn’t want to.

“Yes?” Rossi prompted after a moment. “Your mother called?”

“She’s going to get married,” Hotch said, failing to stop the bitterness that wanted to creep into his voice. He had moved his hands from his face, placing them in his lap instead, but the way he was staring down at the floor hid his face almost as effectively. “He’s a great guy, apparently.”

At the last words he didn’t even try to hide the hurt that crept into his voice, nor the sarcasm and disbelief. He wasn’t sure whether he believed his mother’s ramblings about how wonderful her fiancé was; she had, after all, married his father. So he was worried; worried that this husband would prove to be a repeat of the last one, and that Sean after all wouldn’t be spared by their father dying. But what was worse, at least to himself, was that he was a bit worried about his mother’s words being true. Because the resentment that flared up at the thought of his mother and Sean living the perfect little American dream filled him with painful shame. He should be happy, not jealous or angry.

“But…” Rossi began gently, “You’re worried that he’s not?”

Hotch nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked out, his voice choked with emotion. He didn’t want Rossi’s gentle concern. And he especially didn’t want to be forced to continue this talk, tell Rossi that worry about Sean and his mother wasn’t the only thing that was troubling him, because a small part of him couldn’t help but believe that Rossi would tell him to shape up and get over it, or simply just leave because of Hotch’s childish small-mindedness.

“And..?” Rossi said. Hotch shook his head, not caring that he was basically confirming that there was something more bothering him by the refusal to meet Rossi’s eyes or to speak. “Aaron?”

“Nothing,” Hotch mumbled in reply, the older man’s firm tone forcing him to say something.

“Don’t lie to me, kid,” Rossi chided, a clear reprimand in his voice despite it still being gentle, “I’m a profiler, Aaron. Avoidance isn’t your natural response to problems; the only thing you’re avoidant of is your feelings. And you do that through self-destruction and distraction. You were hiding and I think we both know what emotion that is normally a response to.”

Deciding that he would quit the BAU as soon as this was over, Hotch bit his lip in an attempt to push back his emotions, refusing to raise his head, despite that his neck was aching slightly from angling his face as far away from the prospect of Rossi’s gaze as possible.

“ _Shame_ , Aaron,” Rossi answered his own question after a moment. “Or guilt. I know you, and that’s the best explanation.”

The room was silent for a moment; a heavy, strained silence. Hotch refused to even acknowledge that Rossi was speaking, because the way Rossi was closing in on the real issue was entirely to disconcerting for Hotch to try to face it with any dignity.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re ashamed?”

Still not looking up, Hotch shook his head decisively.

“That’s okay. Do you mind if I tell you what I think is the reason?”

Hotch didn’t really think that it would stop Rossi from doing so if he said he minded, but the softness of the man’s tone was comforting, because if Rossi knew what he felt, he probably knew the reason. And if he was kind in spite of that, the risk of being told what a selfish jerk he was was considerably lessened. He shook his head slightly.

“I think you’re angry at your mother,” Rossi said. “I think you’re pissed that she’s giving your brother what you never had. I think you’re jealous and probably a little resentful. And you know what?”

The suddenness of the question and Rossi’s shift from soft kindness to curtness made Hotch look up, to gauge the Rossi’s state of mind. The older man’s face was still kind, his head tilted slightly in a familiar gesture of concern and well-meaning, and Hotch found himself genuinely curious as to what he would say.

“That’s all perfectly okay.”

Shaking his head as he did so, Hotch immediately lowered his gaze again and closed his eyes as an extra precaution. He didn’t want to be told that what he felt was okay; it only, for some strange reason he couldn’t even begin to figure out, made the guilt worse.

“Hey,” Rossi said gently, half reprimanding, “Look at me, kid.” When he wasn’t obeyed, he continued, voice stern. “Aaron, look at me. It’s not optional.”

Reluctantly, Hotch did as instructed.

“It’s okay to be angry and hurt. It’s okay to hate that you never got to have a proper childhood,” Rossi said. “No-one sensible would blame you for being angry at your parents.”

Not quite sure why it hurt listening to the kind words, Hotch lowered his eyes again, eyes filling with tears. Intellectually, he knew that what Rossi was saying was true. Anger at those who hurt you was a natural and healthy response. But that was intellectually. Emotionally he couldn’t stop believing that he was being selfish and petty. Rossi didn’t seem willing to let him keep his emotional walls up; the man put his hand under Hotch’s chin and firmly raised Hotch’s head to meet his gaze.

“It’s okay to be jealous of your brother. It’s okay to resent your mother,” Rossi continued. “Everything you feel is okay, got it? What matters is how you deal with it.”

Hotch still had no idea why it made him feel like curling up and crying to be told that what he felt was okay when it should be comforting, but that didn’t matter to his emotions. Feeling childish and stupid for his tears, he swiped a hand over his eyes and when Rossi let go of his face he immediately looked down again.

“Do you understand?” Rossi asked, his tone demanding. Hotch nodded. “Answer, kid.”

Swallowing a couple of time to get his voice under control, Hotch did as instructed. “Yes sir.”

“Good,” Rossi said, “Now that we cleared that up; is running off a good way of dealing with emotions?”

There was some temptation to point out to Rossi that he had already said that it wasn’t, but Hotch wasn’t stupid, so instead he shook his head.

“No, sir.”

“What is?”

With a frown, Hotch looked up. “What?” he demanded, not understanding Rossi’s question.

“What _is_ a good way of coping?” Rossi clarified and apparently seeing Hotch’s still confused frown, he continued, “I told you; it’s all about you not doing this again. Just telling you what you got wrong doesn’t matter much if you don’t know how to do it right.”

“Ah…” was all Hotch managed for a moment, frowning. He hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say or do. “I don’t know?”

“Aaron.”

Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer. Hotch grimaced and rubbed his neck nervously. He felt like a kid who was being asked to do a math problem he wasn’t sure of.

“Talking..?” he ventured after a moment’s thought. “To you.”

Rossi nodded. “Got it in one, kid”, he said with a small grin, “If you don’t know what to do or if you don’t feel well, you talk to someone, okay? Doesn’t have to be me; there are other people who care about you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Hotch replied immediately, knowing instinctively that a nod wouldn’t be a good enough answer.

“Good,” Rossi replied. “I’m thinking you’ve already figured out that you’re gonna get spanked for doing something so completely idiotic, so let’s just get it over with.”

To Hotch’s surprise, he didn’t gesture for Hotch to get up and come over to him; instead he himself got up and took a seat on the sofa, next to Hotch. For a moment Hotch was confused, at a loss for what the older man was planning, but then he realized his probable intention and immediately felt the need to protest. He wasn’t a child.

“Dave..!” he said, “Not… Not like that. Please.”

“Hey!” Rossi interrupted him, shooting him a stern glance, “Act like a child, you get treated like one.”

Hotch gulped, giving Rossi a final miserable look in an attempt to convince him, but when his widened eyes got nothing but raised eyebrows from Rossi, he sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Almost. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s humiliating.”

“It’s not humiliating,” Rossi replied, “It’s educational.”

If it had been any other situation, Hotch would have laughed at Rossi’s strange choice of words and the matter-of-fact tone he delivered them in. _Educational_. Right. But Hotch wasn’t about to argue any further; Rossi was obviously already set on this course of action and obeying was probably the alternative most beneficial to Hotch. With a sigh he allowed Rossi to pull him over his lap, his face heating at the feeling of exposure it brought.

Rossi didn’t hesitate to start spanking, the first impact of his hand causing Hotch to flinch despite the fact that he knew perfectly well what had been about to happen, and after a few swats he spoke. “So… tell me why you’re being punished.”

True to what he had said the first time he had spanked Hotch, Rossi always demanded that Hotch line out the reasons for his punishment, though usually complemented by lecturing by Rossi.

“I… eh…” Hotch began, uncertain how to phrase what he had done without it sounding completely idiotic. Of course, Rossi probably already thought it was completely idiotic, but still. “I was out of touch.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rossi said. “Why is that not good?”

“It worried you,” Hotch replied.

“And pretty much everyone else who knows you.”

“Yes,” Hotch agreed quickly. As in most of his endeavors, Rossi was effective when he spanked, and pain was rapidly building up in Hotch’s backside; not enough for Hotch to have any trouble concentrating on Rossi’s words, but enough that he had to actively fight the urge to squirm.

“What do you think would have happened if you had been needed on a case?”

Hotch sighed deeply before he forced himself to reply. “I would have been unreachable.”

“Which you’re not allowed to be,” Rossi said sternly. Hotch nodded his acquiescence. For some reason he absolutely abhorred the tone of voice Rossi sometimes used; it had more effect on him than any amount of yelling from a lot of other people. It was the voice of a disappointed father and for a moment Hotch’s mind once again traveled back to Leroy’s strange words. Maybe he wasn’t _completely_ off.

“Okay, kid, I think you got it,” Rossi said, but he didn’t stop spanking and despite his words he continued his lecture. “But I’ll lay it out for you anyways. You were upset. I can understand that, and I don’t expect you to ignore your feelings. But you don’t run away and hide, no matter how you feel, okay? If it were a child we were talking about it’d be understandable, but you’re old enough to know better.”

He really, really hated when Rossi accused him of acting childishly. Normally because the man was right when he did so, and not behaving like a reasonable adult was incompatible with what Hotch expected of himself. And probably what Rossi expected of him, though the older man never seemed to mind when Hotch was being childishly clingy and needy after he’d been punished or after a nightmare or when he was hurt or sick. In fact, Rossi really only minded Hotch’s behavior when it was dangerous or inconsiderate. Or rude, which was probably the worst of all; being taken to task for having an attitude was something Hotch always found excruciatingly embarrassing as soon as he had time to calm down.

“Then, you were out of touch and unreachable for over twenty-four hours,” Rossi continued his lecture, “First of all, that is completely inconsiderate to everyone who knows you. Secondly, it was dangerous to your career. Third, it was plain dangerous. Going off on your own without anyone knowing where you are can be pretty damn detrimental to your health, kid. You know that.”

Of course Hotch knew that. He had been in law enforcement long enough to know what could happen to people, and he knew how much more difficult cases were made by no-one knowing about the victim’s latest whereabouts. He just hadn’t thought about it, because there’d been too many other things to think about, but now that he did, he realized the sheer foolishness of it.

“Are you getting what I’m saying?” Rossi demanded. Hotch half wanted to point out that Rossi was repeating himself, again; that he had already quite clearly stated that he thought Hotch had understood. But, also again, he wasn’t stupid and Rossi wasn’t very keen on smart comments when he was punishing Hotch.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed quickly. Rossi didn’t reply; just kept spanking him and after a while the pain was rising to truly bothersome levels. Hotch’s eyes were beginning to glass over, and he realized that within a minute or so he would his eyes would tear up enough for some of the ears to escape down his cheeks and he’d be crying for real. He hoped Rossi would stop before that.

And to his relief, Rossi did, and for a moment the older man’s hand was comfortingly rubbing his back as he was lying over his lap. Then Rossi helped him to stand up and, knowing that that was what was to be expected, Hotch let Rossi pull him into a hug, obediently putting his head on the man’s shoulder and let him stroke his hair. The punishment hadn’t been particularly harsh; actually milder than Hotch would have guessed, so within minutes he was calm, tears no longer threatening to escape.

“We’re okay now,” Rossi muttered comfortingly, “You’re forgiven. Everything’s all right…”

Taking comfort in the familiar words, Hotch nodded slightly to show he heard what Rossi was saying, but remained silent, ignoring the part of him that told him to pull away and compose himself.

 “Aaron…” Rossi said after a while, hesitantly, his voice shifting from the soothing, low tone it had when he muttered phrases of comfort to serious. “You’re not gonna like this, but… I think you should talk to someone.”

Hotch pulled back from the embrace and frowned at Rossi, his earlier tears immediately forgotten and replaced by irritation.

“What, like a shrink?” he asked. Rossi nodded, looking almost a bit apologetic.

“Yeah,” he said, “I mean, normally I’m not that big on this whole therapy-for-everyone-thing, but…”

With a glare, Hotch pulled away entirely from Rossi and looked at him with his eyebrows raised. The suggestion that he needed help was insulting and, though he was a bit more reluctant to admit it, hurtful. He did his job well, he was nice, polite and he was generally well-adjusted. He didn’t need a shrink to poke around in his head; that was for the people they profiled.

“I don’t need a psychologist, Dave,” he said, making his voice hard and determined, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I didn’t say there was,” Rossi retorted, he too frowning and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Then why do you want to send me off to a shrink?”

Hotch realized that maybe he was unnecessarily accusing; it wasn’t as if Rossi had really said anything cruel. But the implication that he wasn’t good enough, that he needed to be fixed, hurt and Hotch couldn’t help but feel some anger welling up at Rossi’s hypocrisy. First he told Hotch he didn’t need to be perfect, but when Hotch showed flaws he immediately wanted to have someone fix him.

“Because you were severely abused by your father for fifteen years!” Rossi snapped back, sounding incredulous and somewhat annoyed. Hotch smiled coldly and gave an abrupt, mirthless laugh, sounding bitter even to his own ears.

“So I’m damaged goods, is that it?” he asked, focusing on making his voice angry and mocking instead of the hurt, vulnerable tone it wanted to be. “Well, don’t worry; you don’t have to fix me, I’ll just get out of your life!”

And he was about to do just that, had already turned around and was heading for the door with angry steps, when his arm was grasped and he was spun around to face Rossi.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the man demanded, “Of course I damn well want to fix you! You’re hurt! I want you to be happy, Aaron. I love you, damn it!”

Hotch opened his mouth to shout back, to continue hurling accusations at Rossi, but then words registered and he closed his mouth with an audible snap, eyes widening.

“You’re like my son, okay?” Rossi said, and now his voice was calm and soothing instead. “I feel bad enough about your childhood already. At least let me help you with the aftereffects.”

Feeling completely like an idiot, and convinced that he looked like one as well, Hotch could do nothing but blink slowly and keep staring at Rossi. “What..?” he ventured after a while, not quite sure what he was asking but knowing that some sort of question was what was needed, because of his confusion. Rossi wasn’t supposed to say things like that.

The older man grimaced, looking almost a bit embarrassed. “Don’t make me say it again,” he said, “I’m not good with sentimental stuff, all right? You heard me. I meant it. That’s enough.”

It should be, Hotch supposed, but the surprise of the declaration was too much and he could do nothing but shake his head stupidly. “No,” he said, not sure what he was denying and not sure if he even wanted to deny it. Rossi ignored him and pulled him into a hug again, using Hotch’s momentary shock to pull him close.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Rossi muttered in his ear, “and if you tell anyone I’m being all gushy with you, I’ll kill them _and_ you, but I love you like a son, okay?”

To his great embarrassment, Hotch emitted a small sob at that. He felt like an idiot. Because he realized that he had no idea how to deal with this. He’d thought he’d had the events of the evening pinned down pretty accurately when Leroy had shown up to drive him home, but then everything had slid out of his control.

“I’m not a very good son,” he mumbled, feeling the need to say something and just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. Rossi stiffened for a moment, and very irrationally Hotch feared that he would say that he had changed his mind, but then he simply tightened his embrace somewhat.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Besides, you are.”

And at that Hotch began crying for real. Because for some reason it was almost painful to hear Rossi be that kind. He believed him, Hotch supposed, and he liked the idea, but the emotions it dredged up were to overwhelming to handle. So instead of trying to be an adult and act dignified and pull himself together and answer Rossi in a coherent and reasonable way, Hotch buried his face deeper in Rossi’s by now damp shoulder and sobbed softly.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure whether he wouldn’t have wanted to pull away and be alone instead of being comforted, but since Rossi probably wouldn’t let him he allowed his, to his own mind, more childish instincts to rule for a while longer and soaked up the comfort Rossi’s hand on the back of his head and the soft words he mumbled gave.

“I still love them,” he muttered after a moment, knowing that Rossi would understand who he was talking about. “I think. I want to be angry and I want to hate them, but I just… I love them. I want them to want me. Is that wrong?”

He sounded childish, he knew, and needy, but he hoped that perhaps, if he got confirmation from Rossi, he would feel better about the nagging hole that had been left by never getting his father’s approval or enough of his mother’s love for her to do anything about it.

“No, it’s not wrong,” Rossi replied, voice low and soothing, “I told you already; _nothing_ you feel is wrong. Just let me help you, all right? Let me help you.”

Hotch no longer pretended to be strong and independent; he buried his fingers more deeply in Rossi’s back, ignoring the vague idea in the back of his head that maybe it would be painful for the older man, and allowed himself to draw comfort from Rossi’s tight embrace.

After a moment, he spoke again, because silence was just too awkward to him. “I guess Alex had a point.”

His voice sounded a bit broken even to himself, and halfway through the sentence his breath hitched and he had to stifle a half-sob before he could continue, but all in all Hotch was rather pleased with how he sounded.

“About what?” Rossi inquired, and Hotch realized that the older man didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Alex said… He implied that you… He called you my parent.”

Rossi snorted. “Well, don’t tell him I said so, but Alex is often right about things,” he said. They were silent again for a while, before Rossi spoke in a tone of voice that let Hotch know that he was smirking even if he couldn’t see his face. “Hotch? You wanna make ten bucks?”

Surprised, Hotch pulled back and gave Rossi and incredulous look. That was completely out of the blue. “What?” he said, unable to hold back a small snort of surprise. The look on Rossi’s face could best be described as mischievous and for a moment he reminded Hotch more of a kid about to pull a prank than the man who had just spanked him. “Is it gonna get me killed?”

The older man’s grin widened. “Nah, kid; just maimed,” he replied and when Hotch raised his eyebrows in inquiry he continued, “I’ll give you ten dollars if you call him ‘uncle’.”

Hotch’s eyebrows climbed even further. “Why?” he said.

“Because it’ll annoy him.”

“Why?” Hotch simply repeated and he had to admit that he was genuinely curious. He had heard Rossi call Leroy much worse without the man batting an eye.

“Because it’s true,” Rossi replied and Hotch found that he had no good answer to that. He guessed that in some strange way, maybe it was. If Rossi really thought of Hotch as a son, and if Hotch embraced the idea, which he supposed he did, it did make Leroy his uncle through some sort of very twisted form of adoption, because it was obvious that Rossi and Leroy were as close as brothers.

“Are you okay now?” Rossi then asked. Hotch nodded, but Rossi’s reply to that was a disbelieving look and a slight tilt of the head. “No, you’re not. But we’ll work on it.”

Hotch half wanted to ask why Rossi was asking him if he wasn’t going to listen to the answer, but he realized that that would probably be fruitless, so instead he just shook his head slowly.

“You should go to bed.”

It wasn’t really an order, but it was also more than a suggestion, so Hotch nodded and allowed Rossi to lead him to the guest room where he was deposited on the bed while Rossi went off in search off something for him to sleep in. Now that he had calmed down he realized just how tired he was and to be honest he was grateful that Rossi seemed prepared to manage everything for him this evening. A few minutes later Rossi re-entered the room, pajamas in hand, and shot Hotch an inquiring look.

“I forgot to ask,” he said, “But have you had dinner?”

Accepting the clothing from Rossi, Hotch shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” he said. Rossi shrugged.

“Yeah, well, you should eat anyway,” he said, “Change and join me in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

And Hotch really intended to obey. He wasn’t hungry, but he wouldn’t mind eating and he had a feeling it was in his best interests to obey the older man right now. But he was tired; bone-tired, he realized. He hadn’t slept for something like forty hours, and it was beginning to be noticeable. So when he sat down on the bed to undo his shoes he couldn’t resist the urge to lie back for a moment, or the urge to close his eyes. And despite his resolve to get up again within a minute or two, he fell asleep.


End file.
